That Wasn’t Supposed to Happen! — Tweeted Mystery “The Golden Parachute” Continues

From http://explodingactresses.tumblr.com/ by Simone Rovellini

Here are Week 113 @Twitstery tweets of The Golden Parachute, the amazing new sequel to Executive Severance!

But ALL Regi’s elders met untimely ends! Wait. The THIRD Granger ISN’T dead! What’s HIS deal? “Regi, where is Stuart Granger?” “Dead.” Damn!

“Besides” Regi continues “he hasn’t made movies in years.” “I don’t mean the actor. I mean your uncle.” “Oh THAT Stuart Granger. Also dead.”

Damn! For a moment I thought I’d resolved a question nagging me since the beginning of this case. Who or what was Granger’s doppelgänger?

I was sitting in my Police Headquarters office when someone I thought was dead walked in. He looked just like Willum Granger, Regi’s father.

He may or may not have been a ghost, and now I’m not so sure he was Regi’s father. He claimed the world as we know it was coming to an end.

Was he playing games with me? Maybe. When he offered $50K to go get Regi I jumped at the chance. I would have done it for half that amount.

Had I known then what I know now I’d know a lot more now than I do. If Stuart is dead, who was that back when and will his check clear now?

“How did Stuart die?” Regi says “They found his head but not the rest of his body.” “Are they sure it was HIS head?” “Who else would it be?”

“Seems like there are many possibilities. How did they identify him as Stuart?” “I don’t know. Dental records?” “Maybe. DNA wouldn’t help.”

Had it been Stuart who set this whole thing in motion? “When did he die?” “I’m not sure. Probably when his head separated from his body.”

“No. What date, not what means.” “Oh. I don’t know. My mother and B just told me.” “Your mother and B?” “Yes. I saw them together at home.”

“Your mother and B are together?” “Yes. He’s moved into her Beeviary.” I’ve never heard it put that way. “She can understand what he says?”

“She understands him just fine.” “Even though B speaks only in consonants? Do you understand him?” “Not a word.” “Then how do you know?”

Regi remains silent. A Stuart Granger! How do I verify if he indeed is dead or if he is my doppelGranger? “They never found Stuart’s body?”

“Just his head.” “Strange. They don’t know how he died?” “Well, we can rule out suicide.” “I RULE OUT NOTHING!” “He cut off his own head?”

“Maybe.” Self-decapitation was not at the top of my list of likely solutions. I hate ceding any ground when it comes to crime deduction.

Regi’s disembodied news troubles me. I’ve sometimes lost my head, but I never had an out-of-body experience! Is Stuart Granger really dead?

Now I’ve got two murders to investigate. In both cases I start without an actual body of evidence, although Stuart does come out a head.

Regi says “One thing I don’t understand.” Good. Regi’s on the case with her unique perspective. “When do you find time to play Candy Crush?”

“Huh?’ “When I was tweeting for you I looked at your apps. When do you play Candy Crush?” “I don’t.” “You’re on level 237.” “No, I’m not.”

“Un Huh.” Changing the subject, Regi asks “You’ve tweeted how you lost your jacket and shirt. What happened to your pants?” “I’m not sure.”

(The Twitter Mystery continues daily at @Twitstery)

Rock Paper Scissors: The Movie — Tweeted Mystery “The Golden Parachute” Continues

Here are Week 112 @Twitstery tweets of The Golden Parachute, the amazing new sequel to Executive Severance!

“The same. When I realized the bench perp was A, who split your father and tried to kill us too, I knew what I had to do.” “What was that?”

Back in jail I shrugged off my shirt, slipping from his grasp. I said “A, why aren’t you somewhere serving out your solitary life sentence?”

A replied “Time off for good behavior.” “Good behavior? You committed PRE-premeditated 1st degree murder and violated the Physician’s Oath!”

A tossed my shirt to the side. “I was VERY good.” “It doesn’t work that way!” “I was part of an initiative to reduce prison overcrowding.”

I look around the crowded cell. “How’s that working out?” “I’m back!” “What did you do this time? Drown puppies?” “No. I ran a red light.”

A handed me my now-torn shirt. “What brings you to our prison?” I considered a moment and replied “I’m accused of killing Farley Granger.”

A laughed aloud, prompting cries from the other slumbering inmates. When he finished he said “Ha! Wait. You mean Stuart don’t you?’ “Who?”

“Stuart Granger, Willum’s twin.” “No. You’re thinking of the actor. Willum’s brother was named Farley.” Beside me in the car Regi says “Um.”

A said “Willum’s brother was Stuart.” “That’s not right. I met Farley before he died.” “Before you killed him?” “NO!” Regi says “Uh, Arkaby”

Present time, riding in a car beside Regi, I say “Give me a second here Reg, I’m tweeting my reminiscences of my time in jail.” “Yes, but…”

I pulled A up from the bench. “Listen Asshole! Stuart Granger was a movie actor! “King Solomon’s Mines”! (1949) “Prisoner of Zenda”! (1952)

I shook A. “Once I’m out of this hole I’ll prove it!” “Get your hands off me you damned dirty ape!” “No. That was Charleton Heston (1968)!”

Regi says “Arkaby, you were wrong. My father had duplicate brothers. One of them was Farley, the other was Stuart – not the actor.” “Huh?”

“My father Willum, Farley and Stuart were identical triplets. I never knew it myself until just now.” “That’s incredible!” “That’s not all.”

I pause my tweeting to look over at Regi. “What else could there possibly be?” “Mother isn’t 100% sure which brother was my true father.”

A said “What do you mean?” “Regi is unsure of her parentage.” Regi says “How could A ask that in the past?” I am getting my tweets mixed up.

I read back through my tweets. A said “Get your hands off me you damned dirty ape!” I said it that was Charleton Heston, not Stuart Granger.

Right. Now Regi tells me Willum Granger was one of identical triplets. Why was he so set on making clones of himself? He already had clones!

Any of the triplets might be Regi’s real father. A question occurs to me. “Regi, couldn’t you find your true father with a paternity test?”

Regi says “They were identical. Their DNA is the same.” “So it really doesn’t matter.” “OF COURSE IT MATTERS! WILLUM WAS MY FATHER!” “OK.”

Regi’s revelation hits me like the hot kiss at the end of a wet fist. THREE Grangers! ONE of them her father! TWO were his genetic replicas!

(The Twitter Mystery continues daily at @Twitstery)

Prison Strip Tease — Tweeted Mystery “The Golden Parachute” Continues

Here are Week 111 @Twitstery tweets of The Golden Parachute, the amazing new sequel to Executive Severance!

At this point I was the only one in the cell without a spot either laying or sitting on a bench or stretched out on the floor under a bench.

I repeated “‘MOVE!” Still no reaction. Big Guy said “That’s not how it’s done. Watch.” He got up, came over to my bench and shouted “HEY!”

“MOVE OVER!” My bench perp sat up. Big Guy said “That’s how it’s done.” He returned to his own bench. My perp resumed a reclining position.

Ah! So THAT’S how it’s done. Now I got it! I said “HEY! MOVE OVER!” No reaction. Big Guy just looked at me and shook his head. “Pitiful.”

No reaction. There’s a place you go in your mind at times like these. You don’t know why the perp won’t share the bench. Well, yeah, you do.

Clearly he desired to spend the night horizontal rather than upright. Well, me too. On the fulcrum of a decision, I faced a moment of truth.

Anticipating possibilities, I turned sideways to shrink my target area, shifted to my heels and bent my knees to lower my center of gravity.

My bench perp said “What the f#@k are you doing?” I said “Are you moving or not?” “Not.” My mistake. I shouldn’t have offered him a choice.

Without taking my eyes off him, I removed my jacket and wrapped it around my left arm. I said “Last time I’m asking. Are you moving over?”

Another cellmate came up and said “Hey man. Don’t do that to your coat. Let me hold it for you.” “OK. Thanks!” I never saw that coat again.

I’m ready, certain I’ll withstand a gun blast, a knife stab, a fistfight, jujitsu or anything else, up to and including a vehicular assault.

No reply from the recumbent perp. I hadn’t many items of clothing left to remove. Then he looked directly at me and said “Hey! You Arkaby?”

I tensed every muscle. “I’m DETECTIVE Arkaby. Sup?” “What a shock to meet you here.” “It is. And you are?” “Don’t you remember me? I’m A.”

He smiled enigmatically. What was his game? Was he stalling to solidify his bench position? I decided to play along. “OK. You’re a…what?”

He said “What?” “Yes. You’re a what?” “Nothing. I’m A!” “You’re nothing?” “NO. I’m not nothing. I’M A!” “Got that. I’m asking what are you?”

Big Guy said “Go on. I’m enjoying this.” Bench perp said “Stay out of this A-hole.” “If I understand right YOU’RE the A-hole.” “No, just A.”

I said “A What?” “Let’s try this. Remember the city Coroner?” “Yes. He was an A-hole.” “That was me.” “So you ARE an A-hole.” “NO! JUST A!”

Ow! Like a swift gut punch I realized the truth. A just punched me swiftly in the gut! I wasn’t ready for that! I realized something else.

That guy who took my jacket was gone! Where could he hide in a twenty by twenty cell? As I looked around, the bench perp grabbed my shirt.

He said “Dammit! You don’t remember me? I locked you and that bimbo in a freezer! I killed her father by suturing him together incorrectly!”

Piloting the car as I recount my lockup encounter, Regi says “Who’d he call a bimbo?” “That would be you.” “A, that self-righteous quack!”

(The Twitter Mystery continues daily at @Twitstery)

Overcrowded Prisons — Tweeted Mystery “The Golden Parachute” Continues

Here are Week 110 @Twitstery tweets of The Golden Parachute, the amazing new sequel to Executive Severance!

Covering the mouthpiece I said “Remind me never to make a call from jail in the future.” “Everyone here wishes you’d stop in the present.”

Ignoring them I resumed “How can you live like the Sun orbits Earth?” Behind me someone said “It doesn’t?” Someone else said “Yes it does.”

Regi said “Everyone still thinks Earth is center of the universe. We still say ‘sunrise’ and ‘sunset.'” I gave up. “OK Forget all that.”

I reached an impasse. “I was sent to find you because someone is trying to change all of reality as we know it.” “Oh please!” someone cried.

Defiantly turning to face the mob behind me, I said “That’s the paradigm shift.” In unison Regi and Big Guy exclaimed “Who told you that?”

“I thought your father’s ghost clone or maybe Farley pretending to be your father’s ghost.” Someone in back shouted “You believe in ghosts?”

“NO, I DON’T BELIEVE IN GHOSTS BUT I KNOW HOW TO MAKE ONE! NOW BACK OFF!” I realized I just yelled that into the phone. “Sorry about that.”

From the earpiece Regi whispered “Are you OK?” The crowd of detainees waiting to phone pressed forward again. “Just a little prison banter.”

Regi said “Did someone hit you in the head?” Huh? Was Regi implying my talk of ghosts and her uncle pretending to be a ghost sounded crazy?

I had to set her mind at ease “No.” I said “I know now it wasn’t any of them who sent me on this quest.” “Who was it?” “I still don’t know.”

A familiar voice interrupted “To continue please deposit twenty five cents.” Where had I heard that voice before? “I’ve got to hang up.”

I knew that voice! Regi said “You haven’t answered my question.” “Which is?” “Why am I tweeting?” There was a ‘CLICK’ and we were cut off.

I was out of quarters and time. I hung up and turned to face those in line. Everyone else in the cell left their benches to stand before me.

Big Guy said “You done with that phone call?” “Who wants to know?” Most of my cellmates raised their hands. “Well then, yes I am.” “Good.”

Big Guy stepped to the phone and deposited a quarter. The rest returned to their benches or remained in line. I looked for a place to sit.

Nothing. Every available space was taken. Would I stand all night? I looked through bars at an empty mirror-image cell across the corridor.

Above the cell door was painted one word “Felons.” I leaned over, but I couldn’t read the sign above our cell. I thought WE were the felons.

Behind me I heard snoring. Could my sleepy cellmates actually be felons? If we were all felons, why put us all in this one overcrowded cell?

I realized that we hadn’t yet been convicted of anything, just detained. We were potential felons, not actual ones. Except me, of course.

As I considered this Big Guy finished his call, walked over to a bench and said “Move over.” The smaller guy laying along the bench sat up.

THAT was how to do it! I surveyed the cell, chose a likely candidate and strolled over to the bench he occupied. “Move over.” No response.

(The Twitter Mystery continues daily at @Twitstery)

Phonesense, Nonsense and Twenty-Five Cents — Tweeted Mystery “The Golden Parachute” Continues

Here are Week 109 @Twitstery tweets of The Golden Parachute, the amazing new sequel to Executive Severance!

I couldn’t say I tweet because her father’s ghost told me to. I thought of something else. “We tweet so that we can get up again.” “Huh?”

I don’t think she bought it. “That makes no sense at all. Get up from where?” She had a point. I would have settled for getting out of jail.

I tried again “How about this: ‘I tweet therefore I am.’ That means that what I tweet defines who I am.” Big Guy said “Yeah? Tweet this.”

The grumbling behind me intensified. Regi said “I tweet therefore I am? So you don’t exist right now?” “No. I exist, I’m just not tweeting.

“You’re not tweeting because you’re in jail.” At that cell lights went dark, leaving only a lamp above the pay phone. “I know I’m in jail.”

Some prisoners on benches snored. Others hissed “Shut UP!” I whispered “They’re holding me over til morning when I go before the judge.”

“You have to post bail to get me out.” “I’ll be there.” The line behind me pressed forward again. Then Regi said “I have one last question.”

“Yes?” “Why am I tweeting?” “It’s a long story.” Someone back in line said “Time m#4ther f@cker! Get off the damn phone!” “I SAID A MINUTE!”

“My tweets are evidence of the paradigm shift.” Regi said “What’s a paradigm shift, a designer dress?” Big Guy said “What paradigm shift?”

“A paradigm shift is a change in the way we view reality.” Regi said “Tell me again in plain English.” Big Guy said “What paradigm shift?”

“How about this: Do you believe the Earth is flat or round?” “Both.” Big Guy said “Round asshole.” I covered the phone and hissed “Quiet!”

To Regi I said “Huh?” “I KNOW the Earth is round, but I live on it as if it’s flat.” Big Guy said “What does it matter what she believes?”

I ignored him and asked Regi “What do you mean?” She said “I don’t believe I’d fall off the Earth’s edge if I travel too far east or west.”

Did Regi think the world rode on a big turtle? What about the elephants? “But you WOULD fall off a flat Earth!” “Not if I stop soon enough.”

Regi asked “Why don’t I fall off a round Earth?” “Because of gravity!” “An invisible force keeping me from floating away? Give me a break!”

Someone muttered “Damn flatland bitch.” I turned in response “NO SHE’S NOT!” “What was that?” “Nothing. Comments from my fellow detainees.”

I continued “You don’t believe in gravity?” “I’ll believe it when I see it.” A voice says “Deposit 25 cents to continue.” I dug for change.

Whispers of anticipation came from those waiting line behind me. “His money has run out!” “He’s out of change!” “He’s finished!” “Hooray!”

There! One last coin! “This is my last quarter” I said as the two-bit piece went “Clink!” in the phone receptacle. Several in line groaned.

No matter. I had a few precious minutes more to get Regi to see reason. “OK. Try this: Does the Sun circle the Earth or vice versa?” “Both.”

That didn’t do it. “Really?” “Yes. I KNOW the Earth orbits the Sun. I live the opposite.” Big Guy said “Hey man, save this for the judge.”

(The Twitter Mystery continues daily at @Twitstery)

Why Do We Tweet? — Tweeted Mystery “The Golden Parachute” Continues

http://www.salon.com/2011/10/23/why_chomsky_is_wrong_about_twitter/

 Here are Week 108 @Twitstery tweets of The Golden Parachute, the amazing new sequel to Executive Severance!

They looked doubtful. “I’ve spent my career putting lowlifes like you guys in places like this. I know something about guilt and innocence.”

Scowling, Big Guy said “No need to get personal. You don’t know me.” Everyone nodded or said “Me too.” “Yet here you all are.” “You too.”

This discussion wasn’t getting us anywhere. I wasn’t convincing them of my innocence. They weren’t convincing me of their not-guilty-ness.

I considered pressing the issue but I happened to be the only ex-cop in the holding cell. The odds weren’t good that my point would prevail.

It was my turn to call. Depositing a quarter, I dialed my own phone. Regi picked up “Hello?” “Hi Regi.” “Arkaby? How are you calling me?”

“You’re my one phone call. Are you coming to bail me out?” “Uh, sure! On my way!” What a relief! I didn’t relish spending the night in jail.

With Regi on the job my jail time was finite. She was one focused on getting it done! Then she said “Why is the ringtone ‘Brown Eyed Girl’?”

Huh? My ringtone? Behind me a guy muttered “Hurry up.” I replied “I like ‘Brown Eyed Girl.'” Big Guy said “I bet.” Other inmates snickered.

Regi said “You know my eyes are blue don’t you?” A trick question? “Uh sure! I just like that song.” Someone behind me said “Hurry up, man!”

I gave him a look. “What about ‘Sweet Child O’ Mine’?” What were we talking about? “What about it?” “‘She’s got eyes of the bluest skies…'”

“That’s good too.” Someone yelled “Get off the phone!” I displayed a finger. “‘I’d hate to look into those eyes and see an ounce of pain.'”

“Still quoting Guns N’ Roses?” “Just saying it would make a good ring tone.” “Got it.” Big Guy says “Are you getting music on that phone?”

I covered phone and said “I’ll finish in a minute.” Regi said “Where do we go, where do we go?” “GOT IT!” “No seriously. Where do we go?”

Big Guy said “Yeah, you got it all right.” Others waiting in line pressed forward. “Regi, I’m calling on a payphone in my communal cell.”

Shoved up against the phone I said “There’s a line waiting behind me that’s, let’s say, impatient.” My cellmates chanted “Hang up! Hang up!”

Bracing against the wall, I continued “Get me out of here to a warm safe place and I’ll figure out where do we go.” “Get off the phone!”

“Are you still tweeting?” “Of course I am.” Clasping the phone handset between my cheek and shoulder, I shrugged my jacket off once again.

There’s a place you go in your mind at times like these. “Is that why you take so long to answer me? “Yes.” I couldn’t shift my balance.

Why did they push me up against the wall? “You have to finish our conversation and then tweet it afterwards.” I didn’t know what to expect.

Regi said “OK. Why do I have to tweet everything?” Anticipating possibilities, I turned sideways and said “I’LL BE DONE IN A MINUTE!” “Huh?”

Uh oh. Had I just yelled that into the phone? Everyone in line took a step back. “I was speaking to the guy behind me.” “Why do we tweet?”

(The Twitter Mystery continues daily at @Twitstery)

Celly Season — Tweeted Mystery “The Golden Parachute” Continues

Here are Week 107 @Twitstery tweets of The Golden Parachute, the amazing new sequel to Executive Severance!

I stood center cell and shouted ‘Someone better move over!'” “You challenged the entire cell? What happened?” “Nothing. They went to sleep.”

“They ignored you?” “Contrary to popular opinion most prisoners aren’t interested in fighting, especially when they already have the bench.”

“What did you do?” “I got in line to call you on the pay phone.” “You sounded like you were fighting then.” “I don’t remember it that way.”

“Check your Twitter history. I tweeted everything like you asked.” I scroll back to check Regi’s posts. Browneyed Girl. Sweet Child ‘O Mine.

“If I didn’t have Arkaby I don’t know what I do.” Regi circles Body Parts R Us while tweeting. A “reverse Joker?” Ah here’s the phone fight!

Reading Regi’s tweets from yesterday reminds me of my time in the holding cell. I forgot standing in that long line to make my one call.

The one call rule wasn’t enforced by corrections cops. It was enforced by the other prisoners waiting their turn to call before lights out.

The length of your one call was determined by the quarters you had in your pockets after they confiscated your wallet and other belongings.

With no place to sit, I counted the quarters left in my pocket. Someone tapped me from behind. “Hey! Didn’t you used to be a cop?” he said.

“Criticize me all you want. I get the job done.” He was big and broad and he wasn’t interested in making a new friend. “Who wants to know?”

Several detainees raised their hands. “I’m not a cop anymore. Did I put any of you behind bars?” Everyone looked away or dropped his head.

Big Guy said “Take it easy ‘Not a cop anymore.’ We’re not here to cast stones. Bygones. We just wonder what brings you to our humble abode.”

“Why am I here?” I looked around the cell crowded with recumbent detainees, a single commode/sink and one pay phone. “Vengeance.” I said.

They all moved away a little. Big Guy said “Payback? Against who?” “Against me.” They retreated a bit further. “You busted yourself?”

“Huh?” “You are hardcore! How did you do it? Was it a clash of wills? Did you make yourself suffer? How did you overcome your resistance?”

“I can’t take credit for my apprehension.” “You’re too modest!” “Really. This is all payback by my former boss to justify HIS apprehension.”

After a silent moment Big Guy said “Wait. What?” Another detainee asked “You’re the new boss, same as the old boss? That’s fucked up, man.”

I said “You got it wrong. I’m no boss. I didn’t put myself in here. I’m innocent.” “Me too.” “Me too.” Everyone nodded or raised his hand.

I shook my head. “No seriously. I’m innocent. I was set up by a spiteful person.” “Me too.” “Me too.” Everyone nodded or raised his hand.

The call line inched forward. Big Guy said “We’re all innocent ’til proven guilty.” “Yeah, but I’m especially innocent!” “Me too.” “Me too.”

“What they say you did?” “They say I vaporized a guy.” “Vapor-what?” “The victim was dissolved.” “No shit? How’d you do that?” “I didn’t!”

(The Twitter Mystery continues daily at @Twitstery)

The Wrong Side of the Lollipop — Tweeted Mystery “The Golden Parachute” Continues

Here are Week 106 @Twitstery tweets of The Golden Parachute, the amazing new sequel to Executive Severance!

“You’re out no matter what happens with your case.” “We’ll see. Regi, are you still tweeting?” “Yes.” “I want a record. Tweet this.” “I am.”

Rixey says “Birdbrains of a feather tweet together” and walks away. I say “Where to now Arkaby?” “We go solve Farley Granger’s murder.”

“I’ll take over phone duties.” “Good. I don’t want to tweet while driving.” “So let me have the phone.” “One minute. Just finishing up.”

Time to pass the torch. Better than carrying one. “Regi.” “A moment.” So much left unsaid, or to put it another way left untweeted. “Regi?”

“You don’t have to do that.” “Almost done.” Twitter has been a distraction but at the same time I’m tempted to start my own account. Not!

It’s only been a day, but I feel like I’ve tweeted on this damn thing for weeks! How does Arkaby do it? He says “Regi?” Why does he do it?

Why does he document everything that happens to him? Is tweeting addicting? Has time in jail changed him? Has it increased his street cred?

“Regi!” Arkaby’s clearly impatient to get his phone back. Or maybe it’s that I’m driving while I tweet? “REGI!” “OK!” The rest is silence.

To be free again, first you have to be imprisoned. Not that I recommend jail as the path to liberation, but it is better to be out than in.

I buckle into shotgun as Regi peels her hatchback away from the Detention Center parking lot. I say “Slow down. I just got out of jail.”

Regi says “I knew that. Was it bad?” “Yep.” How do I explain? Like many cops, I’ve spent my time putting people who offend me behind bars.

Regi glances at my tweet. “Offend you?” “I mean social offenders. It was strange to be on the wrong side of the lollipop.” “You mean law?”

“The law just got on the wrong side of me.” “Arkaby, you’re no longer a cop. How will you find Farley’s killer now?” “I’ll figure it out.”

“Let’s get me some clothes and food and then we’ll decide the next step.” “OK. What happened to you in jail? What happened to your clothes?”

“I got into a fight.” “There were others in your cell?” “Not where you found me. Originally I was put in a cell with twenty other perps.”

“I’ve never heard of twenty prisoners in a single cell.” “It was an overnight holding cell because we were too late to see the judge.”

“Were there twenty beds?” “Just benches.” “You spent the night stretched out on a bench?” “I wish. Some detainees grabbed them first thing.”

“They took all the benches?” “They stretched out along each bench and then some others crawled underneath and stretched out on the floor.”

“There’s a place you go in your mind at times like these. You don’t know why they hog all the benches. You don’t know what to expect.”

“Anticipating possibilities, I turned sideways to shrink my target area, shifted my heels and bent my knees to lower my center of gravity.”

“You didn’t shed clothing, did you?” “Well, they had confiscated my tie and belt, so I just removed my jacket and wrapped it around my arm.”

(The Twitter Mystery continues daily at @Twitstery)

Juicy! — Tweeted Mystery “The Golden Parachute” Continues

 

Here are Week 105 @Twitstery tweets of The Golden Parachute, the amazing new sequel to Executive Severance!

Mom comes over and says “Who are you talking to?” “Arkaby called and his phone started talking to us.” “The phone?” “Yes.” “Give it to me.”

“Who is this? Huh? Just a minute.” She touches the screen several times. “Now who is this?” She hands the phone back. “It’s Arkaby for you.”

Arkaby says “Hello phone?” “It’s me.” “Why isn’t the phone talking anymore?” “I don’t know. Mom, what did you do?” “I turned it off.” “Ah.”

How can I be sure the phone assistant is really off? It could be playing dumb, lurking and taking in everything I say. I could get paranoid.

“Arkaby, how can we be sure the phone agent is offline?” “We can’t. Come get me.” “But if it’s eavesdropping?” “I don’t care. Come get me.”

“How are you calling a second time?” “A borrowed quarter. Does it matter? I spent the night in jail. I’ve been before a judge. Come get me.”

“Deposit 25 cents to continue.” “Ah!” “Is that the cellphone assistant?” “That was the pay phone operator. Quick! Come get me. Bring pants!”

“What happened to your pants?” “It’s a long story. Bring something.” “I’m on my way.” Arkaby hangs up. I say “Are you still there?” Silence.

I grab a pair of pants, kiss Mom goodbye and I’m off. Pulling out of the driveway, I knock over our mailbox. I shouldn’t tweet and drive.

At the City Lockup I find a near-naked Arkaby, cooling his heels (and probably the rest of his body), in a grungy looking holding cell.

The Desk clerk is busy with paperwork. I say to the Desk Clerk. “How much for bail?”The clerk says “No bail.” “You mean he can’t get out?”

“The Judge released him without bail.” He nods toward Arkaby’s cell. “He won’t leave the way he is.” “You mean in his undies?” “Yeah.”

He spots my bundle. “Oh good you brought clothing. Maybe we can spring him now.” “Why did you strip him?” “We didn’t. I’ll let him tell it.”

He presses a button to unlock Arkaby’s cell. “Go ahead, it’s open..” he says “I can’t leave this desk.” I walk up to the cell. “Hey Arkaby!”

He looks awful. Purplish bruises shine from one cheek. His hair is disheveled, his eyes bloodshot. He wears nothing but a tank T and boxers

He gets to his feet. “Hey Regi! You’re a sight for sore eyes.” I give him a quick hug. “You’re a mess. What happened?” “I’ve been in jail.”

Arkaby shivers. “You’re freezing. Put these on.” He holds the pants up and reads the back. “You brought me sweatpants that say ‘Juicy’?”

“That’s OK. They’ve never been worn.” “That’s not what I’m worried about.” Nonetheless, he puts the pants on. I say “Juicy!” “Not funny.”

Arkaby retrieves his belongings and we leave the Detention Complex. Rixey meets us on the steps outside. He hands Arkaby a set of papers.

“What’s this?” Rixey smirks and then puts on a serious face. “Your termination papers. See you in court, Juicy.” I say “You can’t do this!”

Arkaby says “I’ll handle this. Rixey, you can’t terminate me while my case is pending.” “I can and do. You’re already under suspension.”

(The Twitter Mystery continues daily at @Twitstery)

A Little Synthetic Skin and No One Will Know! — Tweeted Mystery “The Golden Parachute” Continues

Here are Week 104 @Twitstery tweets of The Golden Parachute, the amazing new sequel to Executive Severance!

I wake in the dark. What time is it? Arkaby’s phone says 8:10. To my horror I realize I’ve tweeted in my sleep. I’ve been dream-tweeting.

I fell asleep! Why didn’t anyone come wake me up? Arkaby beside me says “Maybe they thought you needed the rest.” “What are you doing here?”

“I’m not here. You’re still dreaming. I’m waiting for you to bail me out.” “Am I also dreaming I’m tweeting in my sleep?” “No. That’s real.”

“How can I tweet if I’m asleep?” “You’ve invented a way of communicating using social media and theta waves: Dreeting. Or perhaps Tweaming.”

“I don’t WANT to be Tweaming!” “You promised to tweet for me!” Arkaby begins to fade. “NOT while I’m asleep!” “Remember me!” He disappears.

I open my eyes. Am I awake? Arkaby’s phone is in my hand. I say “Seriously?” The phone says “I didn’t catch that.” Great. I’m still asleep.

The phone says “I didn’t catch that. You can ask me to…” The screen displays a list of commands. I say “How did I tweet in my sleep?”

The phone says “I found these sites on sleeping and tweeting…” and then lists a number of web sites. “I don’t want to know how, but why.”

The phone says “OK I found this on the web for ‘Why do people sleep while they tweet':” Another list of sites. “Never mind.” “Right, then.”

I argued with a cell phone about sleep-tweeting. I can’t sink any lower. The phone says “Lower than tweeting about sinking so low?” “Huh?”

“Hello?” Arkaby’s phone teased me for tweeting. I didn’t know iOS 8 did that. This is the first time I’ve been disparaged by an appliance.

Worse still, it’s following my tweets. The phone says “I’m not sure what you said.” That’s it. I’m leaving the phone outside while I shower.

I’m back. I showered, changed into more presentable clothing and am eating, not a turkey club but a mushroom and cheese omelet. Thanks Mom!

I’m just finishing my coffee when Arkaby’s phone rings. After my recent experience with the phone talking to me I hesitate before answering.

A pause while I type this tweet. The phone keeps ringing. I answer. “Hello?” “Regi?” “Arkaby! Hi! How are you? How are you calling me?”

“On a phone. What took so long to pick up?” “Your phone’s acting weird.” “How so?” “It’s been talking to me.” “Oh. That’s the OS assistant.”

“No. Weirder than that. It’s actually talking.” “Yes. It does that.” The phone says “I’m also a good listener.” Arkaby and I both say “Huh?”

A good listener? Has the phone become sentient? Arkaby says “Who just said that?” I say “Your cell phone. Like I said, something’s weird.”

There’s a long silence. I say “Is either of you still there?” Arkaby and the phone both say “Still here. Just thinking. What? Who is that?”

Arkaby says “Was that my cellphone speaking?” “That’s what I was trying to tell you!” “Is it related to the malfunctioning IVR epidemic?”

A thought occurs to me. “Arkaby, I thought you only get one call in jail. How are you calling me twice?” The phone says “Yes. Explain that!”

(The Twitter Mystery continues daily at @Twitstery)